


Stress relief

by Chillary_from_Cartagena



Category: Political RPF - US 20th c.
Genre: F/M, Oval Office, PWP, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 08:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9648836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chillary_from_Cartagena/pseuds/Chillary_from_Cartagena
Summary: A shameless smut piece inspired by the PWP round robin, takes place at some point in Bill's  first term.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [PWP Round Robin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9495281) by [EAS1928](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EAS1928/pseuds/EAS1928), [RacingHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RacingHeart/pseuds/RacingHeart). 



> Hi! I’m the dirty mind behind the “A non” comments on the PWP roundrobin. I’ve been lurking in the shadows for a while, but I finally got my AO3 invite, so here I am.  
> I’ve decided to write a story based on some of the suggestions in those comments, for all you nasty women out there to enjoy. English is not my first language, but I think I did a pretty good job anyway, so let me know what you think.
> 
> Disclaimer: I have the utmost respect for the people I’ve portrayed in this fiction and as the term states, nothing of this is remotely true. Anyway, until they release waaaay more detailed biographies, I feel like I can fill in the blanks with some naughtiness.

He was stressed and she knew it. She had known since that morning, when he had passed her in an hallway without giving her a single glance and when he had requested a sandwich to be brought to the Oval instead of joining her for lunch. He would likely spend the night bottled up in there, until the wee hours of the morning, caught up trying to figure out how to best approach this or that particular repercussion of the international crisis they were facing and she knew that fucked with his brains. All the pressure, all the responsibility, all in that gilded oval cage in which you couldn’t even crack open a fucking bulletproof window.

She got all that and they had a tacit agreement. Whenever the pressure lifted for a couple of hours – thank God for timezones, even their enemies slept sometimes – she would go to him for stress relief. Well, during those days she was basically a glorified whore: she wouldn’t speak to Bill all day, she’d join him in his hole for the time he could spare, made sure he’d get a good fuck to clear his brain out and then never see him again until the next morning - that assuming she was lucky and the crisis was solved in a day. Otherwise day two would be a repeat of the previous one, only with variations on the sexual routine.  
Well, she didn’t really mind. When they weren’t husband and wife, but Mister President and his plaything, he’d unleash his domineering side, and she liked it. A lot.

Yes for respect and equality in the workplace, but in bed… well, that was a different matter. His hulking viking figure had attracted her from the start, the thought that he could pick her up and have her any way he wanted always made her wet. And if under normal circumstances it took her some time to get him to that breaking point, in which he turned animalistic and switched his brain off, when he was under duress he could jump from 0 to 60 in a matter of microseconds. He just needed the right push.

She had observed that the flow of people in and out of the Oval had stopped and she surmised the time was ripe for her visit.  
She hadn’t really changed clothes because that would have elicited whispers from the staff, but she had made a detour through the lingerie closet and now the wispy lace cadeaux from his latest diplomatic trip to France was hugging sensually her round creamy butt cheeks.  
She grabbed a manila folder from her desk and put a bunch of white sheets inside. She didn’t even bother to write anything on the front.  
Everyone always thought she was just so professional. Never one to indulge in silly business. Basically they would never question her motives if she seemed to be ready to debate the minutiae of healthcare policy that – as they thought – must surely be the content of the slim file.  
Just for a kick, she even drew a cock and balls on the first of those papers and then chuckled to herself when she put it right on top of the others, before closing the folder.

The professional clicking of her heels echoed through the sparsely populated halls.  
A nod to the security guard posted outside the office, her stance a bit straighter, her breasts pushed out in an entitled stance.  
Eyes, boobs, folder - The guard took one look and let her in without further question.

He saw her silhouette encased in the doorframe, his hourglass goddess with her piercing blue eyes stood still a second, then sauntered into the room, hips swaying hypnotically. The door shut behind her and it was like a panther had been let into the room. Silky movements and the smell of danger.  
Three steps and then she deliberately let go of the folder, which plummeted to the floor.  
“Ooops”.  
The stupid blonde routine, even more annoying because she didn’t even try to act it out.  
She was mocking him, mocking the things that turned him on in the floozies he had fucked in the past.  
And he was getting worked up, exactly as she wanted him to be.  
It wasn’t Bill Clinton the president or Bill Clinton the husband anymore. It was Bill Clinton and his dick. The things he liked to do with his dick and the people he liked to do with his dick, raw and unapologetical.  
And boy, he wanted to stick it in her so badly right now.

She dropped on her hands and knees, her ass strategically kept high, while she extended her hands to reach for the folder. The perfect heart shape of her behind stretched the pencil skirt she was wearing, revealing the outline of some very thin panties that probably wouldn’t stand a chance of remaining whole in the very near future.  
She scrabbled for the folder, some papers were in disarray, peaking out from the sides. She made a show of her efforts, ass wriggling invitingly in the air, like the juicy apple of sin just begging to be picked. Oh, yes, but he wasn’t the one who would end the day begging, he was sure of it.

Folder now back in her clutch, she made to sit on her heels to stand up again, but he raised a hand in a stop gesture.  
Few choice words on his lips “Now be a good girl - _fetch_ ”  
Her impassive mask in place, her defiant blue eyes… all of it was turning him on. This woman who intimidated anyone else was willing just to be another bitch at his feet. _Liked_ being a bitch at his feet.  
She held the folder between her plump lips, the red lipstick instantly smudging the heavy paper.

Still in his seat, he swiveled sideways, the Resolute desk now on his left. He was slouched into the chair, relaxed, with his legs wide open to await her arrival and give more space to the arousal that was beginning to grow in his pants.  
She circled the desk still advancing on her hands and knees, her ass undulating, capturing his gaze from under her temptress lashes. His own personal Bathsheba, seducing king David with her little show on the roof. Or on the embroided carpet of the Oval, in this case.

She arrived in front of him, but maintained a respectful distance, like she was showing deference.  
He took the folder directly from her lips and some of the lipstick stained the points of his fingers. With an annoyed “Tsk”, he plucked a tissue from a box on the desk, an aide for his neverending allergies which doubled as his best ally when he needed to clean up the mess he usually left between his little slut’s legs and cleaned his fingertips, muttering under his breath - though loud enough for her to hear him:  
“The incompetence of you pretty faces is staggering. Sure you’re nice to look at, but we should instruct the senior staff to teach you a lesson or two from time to time, so maybe you’ll learn something”.

“I think you’ll find I’m very skilled for the task at hand, mister President.” she answered seductively, voice dripping with the sweet syrupy tinge of innuendo.  
“Which would be?”  
“I believe it’s all written there on the front page” she wetted her lips expectantly, wanting to soak in the whole range of reaction at her impromptu work of art.  
He bit his lower lip in that cheeky expression that always made her want to start biting and sucking that lip herself and when he opened the folder she saw him drop his cool and aloof powerful-man-just-waiting-to-abuse-you mask for a second, trading it for a genuine smile of amusement at her unsubtle and childish drawing.  
“I see”  
She swore that probably they were both too aroused to decide to crack up laughing in that precise second and to nullify all the aura of seduction and danger that they had created till that moment, because she saw a twitch at the corner of Bill’s mouth, that was swiftly reigned in.  
He closed the folder and put it on his desk, then cleared his throat, probably to suppress his impending laugh and swallowed fixating his gazed back on his hands clutched in his lap, trying to go back in the zone.  
A fleeting idea passed his brain when he looked at the scrunched up tissue in his hand. He had figured out his next move to get them back on their seduction path.

“Come closer, doll. Diane, is it?”  
“Mhh mhh” she said, head just barely nodding, feigning a sudden bout of teenage-like shyness, while thinking about the other adventures of her character persona, a wide eyed innocent girl, who found herself more than once at the mercy of the powerful mister President, his thick cock slamming relentlessly hard and deep into her from behind, his hot breath on the shell of her ear grunting: “Who’s your daddy, Diane? Who’s your daddy?”.  
Her panties got drenched.

She advanced and placed herself between his open legs, still kneeling on the ground, her round ass sitting on her heeled feet. She was looking down; not at his crotch, now evidently aroused, but towards the side.  
His hand came gently to caress her cheek, taking her chin between his thumb and index fingers, angling her head to look back at his face.  
“Hey, sweetie, don’t be shy” he said in a cajoling tone, trying to catch her eyes.  
With one hand still on her chin, he brought the other up to remove her lipstick with his tissue, rubbing a bit forcefully and then smoothing over her lips with his fingertips.  
He pressed a thumb against her lips and she pulled out just the tip of her tongue to give it a tentative lick, followed by two more longer and fuller drags.  
“That seems promising” he said in a husky voice, then he inserted the thumb in her wet mouth and made some more approving comments as she sucked on it, drawing it in and out of her rosy lips.

Her arousal was steadily growing and now she felt a hum up and down her body, especially between her legs - she knew he was the only one who could extinguish that insistent throbbing need.  
He glanced quickly behind him to make sure the curtains were drawn on the windows and nobody could spot them from the garden outside: sometimes in those evenings he had her on her hands and knees facing the window, his hand pulling her hair back, marking her white throat with his piercing teeth while she cried for the mix of pleasure and pain, but he thought the crisis at hand didn’t need a presidential scandal on top of it, so he would sadly renounce the added thrill of voyeurism.  
Sometimes back in Arkansas he would hogtie her and fuck her in front of the full length mirror mounted on the antique wardrobe in the Governor mansion’s chambers: she would come hard around him, screaming against the gag he would put her in, while she watched him penetrate her, balls slapping wetly with every forceful thrust, never providing enough stimulation for a quick release, but bringing her to the slow burn that caused frontwaves of shivers that left her dizzy afterwards. Sometimes, in those encounters, she threaded on the edge of fainting from his relentless stimulation of her G spot, the pleasure all encompassing and raw.

“Come up here, pretty”  
He gently grabbed her forearms and helped her up on his lap. She was sitting sideways on his leg, now, and could clearly feel the press of his arousal against her thigh. She tentatively extended her small hand towards his crotch, just to be stopped by one of his large hands.  
“No, no, baby, we’ll leave it there for a while… I was more interested in this” and he brought up a hand to massage her breasts under the jacket, feeling her sheer camisole under his skin and her lace-lined bra under it.  
She shifted at the contact, which caused her to rub her legs together and send a feat of shocks through her system, pooling even more moisture between her legs.  
He helped her out of her jacket, then turned her around, still keeping her seated on his knee, now with her back towards him. He caressed the entire expanse of her back, drawing wide circles with his hands.  
Then he unhooked her bra, an easy task to accomplish through her light gauze camisole, and with his arm around her throat he tugged her shoulders back to connect with his chest.  
She took in a sharp breath and in automatic response raised her hands to his forearm, now blocking her in a lose, but still unescapable grip.  
He licked the shell of her ear and whispered, voice dripping with lust:  
“Relax baby: nobody’s going to hurt you if you continue to be a good girl and do what you’re told, alright?”  
He slid the straps of her bra easily through her short sleeves down her arms, then reached into the opening of her camisole to finally yank the bra out.  
He had managed to free her breasts and keep the now see-through garment on and he returned her to her previous position on his lap.

He started to fondle her round breasts through the sheer material, appreciating the way her nipples perked and stood clearly visible through their thin covering, then he closed in with his face on hers and kissed her slowly, his tongue languidly drawing in and out of her wet heat, one hand slipping under her camisole to roll a nipple between his fingers.  
She moaned softly at the intimate touch and scooted closer to him pressing her flank against his chest, trying to connect as much skin as possible to him. He gripped her hips tightly in his large hands and helped her up to straddle his lap, all the while continuing his exploration of her mouth.  
He let his hands roam up and down her sides, from her breasts to her tiny waist, which he could almost encase completely in between his thumbs and indexes.  
He caressed the curve of her ass, hiking her skirt higher, so that she could open her legs better to press her center against his arousal.

Together, they formed the fluid and perfect fit akin to modern art works, two sinwed and jagged bodies which consisted in a sum that was more than the two individual pieces, their own personal artistic creation a perfect mirroring of their flawed, but inescapable relationship.  
He looked down at the opening of her shirt: the view was stunning, but he wanted to see more of her delicately flushed skin.  
He pressed his hands against her breasts through the shirt, feeling their heavenly fullness, then he undid the buttons down the front.  
He felt like a perv molesting a schoolgirl: she was giving him the most innocent and provocative look with her crystal clear eyes - his own Lolita, biting her lip, pouting adorably, her headband always adding to her childish look.  
But peeling the layers away, he could truly appreciate how much of a woman she truly was, dusky nipples beautifully erect, just waiting to be tasted by his mouth. He had left her shirt on, still tucked into her skirt and had just brushed the garment aside to gain access to her supple flesh. Now she was arching her back into his touch as he sucked on her nipples, sighing and pressing her bosom to his face, the smell of her skin filling him as his nose was pressed into the valley between her breasts.

She was grinding her hips against his crotch, hands tangled in his hair to keep his face close to her skin, while his hands were holding her thighs firmly to press her tighter against him.  
He came up again from the assault on her nipples to breathe and she yanked at his tie to pull him down in a hungry kiss.  
He captured her small hands between his big ones and trapped both her wrists in the vice grip of his right hand, while he removed his tie with the other and tied her hands together on her front with the colorful garment.  
He then lowered her back on the carpet, gave her another long kiss and then finally opened his zipper to take out his hard erect,cock, which had been painfully straining in its confines.

She looked at him from under her hooded eyes and he brought his hands to her head to remove her headband and bring her face fractionally closer to his erection: one hand tangled in her hair, the other grabbing the base of his cock, he exchanged a look of understanding with her and then proceeded to help her bob her head up and down his member.  
With her bound hands she was massaging his balls and he was moaning little encouragements, at times threading his hand through her thick, blonde locks and gasping when she hollowed her cheeks to increase suction. He felt himself starting to move his hips and he didn’t want it to be over yet, not when he didn’t even get a proper look at his wife.  
He allowed himself, though, to still her head fuck her mouth for a couple of thrusts, enough to establish his supremacy and watch the breathy rise and fall of her shaky breasts when she could finally emerge for air.

“You’re such a nice girl, sure you know what you should say to people when they give you something”, she was so delicious, with her camisole barely covering her breasts and her flushed neck and cheeks, seemingly so innocent, so helpless.  
“You say thank you” she said tentatively.  
“I’ve given you something, right? And you need to say thank you – Say: thank you, Mister President”  
“Thank you…” she was playing shy, uttering the worlds barely above a whisper, with her small voice, looking at the ground.  
He interrupted her: “No, no, no! This won’t do! Do you want me to get angry? To give it to you rough?” he knew the question sounded a bit off, but he wanted to indirectly test what Hillary wanted or expected out of the encounter.  
Still looking at the ground, seemingly vulnerable, she shook her head signing no, he smiled slyly and said “Good girl” dragging the word out in his southern drawl that oozed sexual charm.  
He couldn’t wait to stick his dick in his little princess: this whole playing innocent made him want to pound into her until she begged him. He wasn’t sure for what – release? mercy?- but he just wanted to elicit a mix of screams of pain and pleasure from her rosebud mouth.

He grabbed her tied wrists and brought her on her feet, looked mischievously into her eyes, then picked her up slinging her over one shoulder. She let out a surprised shriek and tried to kick and punch him, but between her bound hands and his grip on her thighs she couldn’t accomplished anything.  
With his trousers still halfway down, he covered the few steps from his chair to the sofa on the right of the desk and placed her down, slung across the armrest.  
Her upper body rested on the sofa, so she could prop herself halfway up on her elbows even with her hands bound in front of her, but her ass was invitingly up in the air. He ran his hands to trace the outward silhouette of her thighs, bunching up her skirt completely in a fluid gesture.  
He licked his lips admiring her underwear choice, a beautiful pair of very soft and very sheer panties he had brought back from Paris for her and he smacked her ass approvingly with one hand.  
“Ow!” she let out a surprised sound, and he was so delighted.  
“What have we said about expressing gratitude, uh?”, he added, smacking her again.  
“That I should thank you” she said in a strangled voice.  
“Then, thank me” he said, smacking her again, but also rubbing his large hand on her crotch to feel how his ministrations were affecting her.  
She moaned at the contact and whispered “Thank you, mister President”  
“Louder, I didn’t hear you” he spanked her again, harder this time.  
“Thank you, mister President!” she blurted out.

He had an inkling the security guard had heard them, but he knew the guy had already an idea what he and his wife were up to during these fleeting encounters in his most stressful days.  
“Oh, yeah, you’re such a good girl. Such a good girl”, he said, massaging her pussy through the lacy fabric and then dipping under it to sink a finger in her wet heat. She arched her back from the pleasure and wriggled her bottom when she realized he wasn’t moving.  
“If you like it, tell me, girl. Tell me how much you like it.”  
“I like it, I like it very much”  
He added another finger and started to pump in and out of her opening, going in a bit further with every stroke. She was starting to move in synch with him, mewling her pleasure in satisfied little cries that were exciting him more than anything.  
He took his fingers out and grabbed the edge of her panties to slowly drag them down over her peachy bottom, kneeling to help her out of them completely.  
This gesture brought his face at level with her pussy: puffy, read and glistening. Just perfect and just waiting for his thick cock to fill her.  
He came back up and slid the tip of his member between her waiting folds without entering her, just coating it in her moisture. He wanted to pound into her so badly, but he also still wanted to play a little: he continued to trace a path with his tip up her crack, sliding to the top and then pressing lightly at her asshole.  
He saw her tense just fractionally, but she had the utmost trust in him so she didn’t jump away at his unexpected move.  
He extended his torso over the sofa, connecting his chest with her outstretched back, to near his face to her ear and whisper: “Are you frightened, baby?”.  
She shook her head no, he moved his middle finger, still coated in the juices from her pussy, to her tight opening.  
“Because you know I could do it” he sank his finger into her anus, slowly moving it in and out, eliciting a moan from her.  
“Because you know I could fuck you up the ass… and you just would have to take it, you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. I have absolute power over you, you little slut... gosh you’re so tight…” he knew it wasn’t a possibility, they had done it a couple of times over the years, but always after extensive preparation. Still, it didn’t hurt to tease.  
He licked his lips and added “Perhaps next time”.

He rose back, still with his finger inside her, and entered her pussy in a sudden, fluid movement, starting out at a leisurely pace right away: not slow, but not too hasty either, enjoying the feeling of her and the sight of his cock rythmically disappearing into her pliant body.  
She let out a ragged sigh at his move and soon after added: “That feels so good” in a breathy whisper.  
His balls were slapping against her and the wet sound of their coupling was music to his ears.  
He was holding one hand on her hip, steadying their movements, while the other was limply tangled in her hair, combing through them.  
She was arching her back and thrusting in counterpoint, helping his movements but also suggesting a quicker pace. He loved her enthusiasm: just because she had played passive before, it didn’t mean she wasn’t getting her fair share of pleasure out of it.  
He pawed at the supple flesh of her thigh with his hand, then he spanked her ass again, hard, suddenly tightening his grip on her hair, pulling her head back and bending over her torso , changing the angle and pace at which he penetrated her. He was now slamming furiously, grunting in her ear with each thrust.

She cried out: “Oh, God, yes! Fuck me, yes!” at the sudden change and he knew he was now probably rubbing her G spot, because she had to sink her head against his pull to bite the crook of her elbow and stifle her loud cries of pleasure.  
He continued to fuck her relentlessly, now moving his hands to cup her breasts and grip her waist, then trailing lower to finally brush her clit as he whispered in her ear “You’re so fucking tight, you feel so good… come for me, baby!”.  
He slapped her cilt repeatedly and she ground her hips into his, howling muffled by her own arm, her walls contracting rhythmically around his cock, milking out all of his seed while he thrust his last harried strokes into her.

He collapsed on her, spent, brow glistening with sweat, a small amount of their combined juices now trickling in droplets from her opening and down her leg. After a moment to recuperate, he slid out of her delicious heat, panting from exertion, and he caressed her back firmly but tenderly.  
He checked to see her face, but her head was still half-buried in the crook of her elbow, eyes closed, panting with an open mouth, clearly still feeling some leftover arousal from their joining.  
He knew she was very sensitive after orgasming and she would have likely been in need of a cold shower to rid her of the lingering arousal in her lower abdomen, since another round was out of the question right now.  
He grabbed the box of tissues on his desk: first he cleaned himself up and refastened his trousers and then, looking nearly decent save from the lack of his tie, he gently wiped her inner thighs and her sex, a few whimpers escaping her mouth because she was still aroused from before.

He trashed the tissues and helped her to get into her panties again: he squatted down and gently prodded her with his words: “Come on, love, lift one leg for me…that’s good, then the other…” he slid her panties back on and lowered her skirt again, trying to smooth out the creases that indicated very clearly what the garment had been trugh.  
He gripped her shoulders gently and helped her back on her feet, embracing her from behind, placing a kiss against her cheek when he had her in an upright position.  
She turned in his arms to face him, her hands still bound and he gave her a very tender look.  
“Thank you, my love” he said caressing her face with reverence and freeing her hands.  
He kissed the inside of each wrist and then guided her gently to sit on his lap, both resting comfortably on the sofa. He held her in a gentle embrace, caressing her cheeks, sweetly kissing her and running comforting hands down her arms in long soothing strokes.  
She sighed happily and whispered “I love you.”  
His heart brimming with contentedness he answered: “I love you too, baby. And thank you for this, I really needed to blow off some steam… I’m sorry that this is the only way we get to see each other in busy days like these.”  
“Not that I don’t like the results” she answered, grinning. He laughed and kissed her once again, before she got up to slip her camisole off completely in order to put her bra on again.  
He raked his eyes appreciatively following her soft curves and her pert nipples and she caught him staring while she was buttoning herself up once again.  
“God, you’re beautiful, Hillary!”  
She chuckled. “Thanks, but you know it doesn’t count when you say it in post coital bliss”.  
His eyes turned grave and he got serious, clasping one hand on her bicep, the other cupping her cheek to force her gaze to his face: “It always counts, because it’s always true.”  
She didn’t want to discuss the matter further and she was moved by his words, so she reached for his lips and gave him a chaste, but meaningful kiss, before slipping her jacket back on.  
She fixed her hair with her headband again and it was like nothing strange had happened between them. Sensing the heavy atmosphere, he tried to change the subject.  
“And what should I do with this?” - this being the lipstick-smudged folder she had brought as a prop, which still contained her childish drawing.  
She raised an eyebrow and with a cocky smile said: “Well, there’s some interesting material in that, maybe you can study the file for next time. We can also discuss it when you come to bed, if you _do_ come back at a decent time…”

He groaned internally: obviously his timing didn’t depend on him, but on a bunch of angry foreign leaders who obviously didn’t have beautiful, enthusiastic wives like his In wait for them and had to busy themselves by spending their days in pointless conflicts he had to monitor.  
“Next time they call me, I’ll have you speak to those pesky foreign leaders and explain in great detail why we need a truce, so that your husband can have some free time to spend with you…”  
“In great detail? You know some of them are almost seventy and just full of heart problems? I wouldn’t want to create a diplomatic incident by causing them a heart attack with my graphic explanations…”  
“Oh, sweetie… if there’s anyone who could it’s you” he added, thinking about some phone sex conversations they’d had over the years. With a smile on his face, he kissed Hillary again and looked as she walked to the door, hips swaying, turning to give him a wink before exiting.

Still thinking about the wink, he got back to his desk and placed the folder in the top drawer, so he could look at it periodically, as a reminder of who and what was waiting for him upstairs. Despite still not having recovered from his previous encounter, he felt a fire beginning to spread low in his abdomen, getting hotter the more he looked at that smudged lipstick: yes, If there was someone whose innuendos could kill, it was definitely his wife.  
With a resigned sigh, he closed the drawer and went back to work, now with an added, very personal, incentive in the pursuit of peace.

**Author's Note:**

> It would be lovely if you left some feedback (and if you got a you-know-what out of it you kinda owe me some kudos :P I don’t know why we act like we don’t read the dirty fics with a hand down our pants… I’d never admit it to your face, but thank goodness for anonymity!).  
> Constructive criticism is welcome too! :D


End file.
